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Sixty- Nine - a poem by Yellin' Ellen
All stories on this web site are purely FICTIONAL. The people depicted within these stories only exist in someone's IMAGINATION. Any resemblence between anyone depicted in these stories and any real person, living or dead, is an incredible COINCIDENCE too bizarre to be believed. If you think that you or someone you know is depicted in one of these stories it's only because you're a twisted perverted little fucker who sees conspiracies and plots where none exist. You probably suspect that your own MOTHER had sex with ALIENS and COWS and stuff. Well, she didn't. It's all in your head. Now take your tranquilizers and RELAX.
Sixty-Nine
Lying on my side, back arched, bow shaped,
As his tongue laves the damp sensuous groove
Between my creamy thighs, the sweet scent of us.
I clutch desperately his sinewy cheeks
Pulling his hardness to the soft valley
'Tween my gathered alabaster breasts.
The mingling of our scents creates a whole
That is breathed inward with each gasping breath
And expelled with each muffled moan,
And each tiny cry of sexual delight.
Persistantly, the tongue does its magic
Winding emotions like a coil spring
Until my thighs clamp his head 'tween,
Holding a warm, gifted tongue against me.
His rapidly thrusting cock 'tween soft hills
Excites us both, approaching our release.
Then, screaming, thighs tightening, back arching
I sense the initial release and feel
The liquid fire flowing in my soft valley.
We are all throbbing masses of neurons
Excited past our limits to point of rapture.
Waves of ecstasy pour over us.
Hot semen flows in the river of my valley
And the groove between my thighs throbs.
There were two lovers
In that tight place, then just one
Aflame, melting, fused.
Ellen
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